


Chess

by ThedasWitch



Series: Shades of Gold [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Chess, F/M, Getting to Know Each Other, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 07:11:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5904232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThedasWitch/pseuds/ThedasWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fades to black, filled in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chess

**Author's Note:**

> Conversation between parts of the chess game cutscene. Uses some dialogue directly from the game.

“What about you?” Cullen asked, watching the Inquisitor over the chessboard. “Do you have any siblings?”

Lavellan looked up from examining her pieces to meet his gaze. “No, no siblings.” She moved one of her pawns, and, while she waited for Cullen’s next move, continued speaking. “I was my parents first child, and my mother died a few months after I was born. My father never married again, so… just me.”

“I’m sorry,” Cullen said, softly.

“It’s alright. You didn’t know.” She tucked a strand of dark red hair behind one ear. “Honestly… I don’t have any memories of her. It’s hard to mourn someone you never knew. I was always more sad for my father, when he talked about missing her.”

His move. Cullen took another of her pieces.

“Were you close with him, then?”

“Not particularly, no. He’s… stern. I don’t know if he’s always been that way, or if he changed after my mother… anyway, he wasn’t an easy person to get to know.” She looked up at him. “Not that he was cruel or anything, really, he wasn’t, he’s a good man. And I always knew he loved me. He just wasn’t… warm.”

She didn’t say anything for a few long moments after that; Cullen wasn’t sure if she was waiting for a response, or pausing to collect her thoughts. Lavellan moved another piece across the board, worrying her lip with her teeth.

“I had cousins, though,” she said, with a small smile. “My father had sisters, and they both had children.” She laughed, remembering. “We were the terror of the clan for a few years. Our poor parents. And I think there’s still a halla or two with traces of dye in its hair that won’t wash out.”

Cullen laughed, almost in spite of himself. He could picture Lavellan, younger and not so worried about wars and alliances, leading a troupe of red-haired elven children in and out of trouble. “And how did your aunts feel about that?” he asked.

Her answering smile was wider, now, more genuine. “Oh, they were  _ livid _ . Although Aunt Ryla laughs when she tells the story now. I think she was almost impressed. Aunt Miris was less forgiving. Though that may be because she was the one who had to wash them.” 

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, moving the pieces across the board. They were well matched; he didn’t know where a Dalish elf had learned to play chess, but she was certainly skilled. For every piece of hers he took, Lavellan captured one of his, flashing a quick grin as she swept up her prisoner.

“Inquisitor--”

“Lanyla,” she said, interrupting him with a smile. “I just confessed my scandalous past of halla vandalism, I think you can address me by my name.”

“Lanyla.” He hadn't let himself be so familiar with her before, not even in his own thoughts. But he liked the way her name sounded. Liked the way the smooth syllables felt on his tongue. He forgot entirely what he'd meant to ask--something about her clan, maybe, or her cousins--and fell silent, watching the way she glanced up to meet his eyes before looking back down to the board.

As they played, Cullen realized something. “This may be the longest we’ve gone without discussing the Inquisition--or related matters,” he said. And he realized, too, that he enjoyed Lavellan’s presence.  _ Lanyla’s _ presence. Since she sat down, he’d barely thought about the Inquisition or Corypheus or battles to come. He was pleasantly caught up in their game. Or, to be truthful, in watching her play it. Not that he would say as much. 

“To be honest,” he continued, “I appreciate the distraction.” 

_ Of your eyes, brighter gold than mine, flashing in the sunlight. Your fingers, long and slender, wrapped around each piece. Your mouth, full and pink, the way you bite your lip… _ Maker, he shouldn’t be thinking like that. Not about her. His thoughts were verging on inappropriate, he knew that, and yet…

And yet the way she looked at him just then, he wondered if their conversation at Haven-- _ physical temptations... _ \--meant more than he’d let himself hope. If, perhaps, there was more too it than friendly flirting.

“We should spend more time together,” she said, and for a moment Cullen couldn’t breathe. He’d never seen that look on her face before. She looked almost… shy. Like, maybe, she wanted more than another friendly game.

“I would.. like that,” he replied. He was suddenly keenly aware of how close they were sitting, that if he wanted to, he could reach out and touch her without effort.

“Me, too,” she said, the smile on her lips-- _ Maker, those lips _ \--softer than before. 

She had scatterings of delicate freckles in the spaces between the lines of her tattoo. Funny that he hadn’t noticed that before.

“You said that.” He barely recognized his own voice, the softness in it something he’d half-believed was lost. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes steadily. The moment stretched on and on, and he found himself… wanting something. For the first time in a very long time.

Cullen looked away first, forced his gaze back down to the chessboard.

“We should… finish our game, right? My turn?”

Cullen barely paid attention to the moves he made, or how she countered. He was sure they spoke, though if pressed he wouldn’t be able to remember details of the conversation. All he was really aware of was the sound of her voice, and the way their hands nearly touched when they both reached for a piece.

Soon-- _ too soon _ , he thought, selfishly--the game reached its end.

“I believe this one is yours,” he said.

_ I am yours, too, though I am undeserving. _

“Well played.”

_ When you smile I feel things I thought long out of my reach. _

“We shall have to try again sometime.”

_ Any excuse for another moment in your presence. _

_ Lanyla. _


End file.
